


Only You

by Prettie_Parker



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow knows nothing, Jonasfic, Sansa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettie_Parker/pseuds/Prettie_Parker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 6x10, thrown together in a political marriage meant to save their dying family, Jon and Sansa struggle to discover who they are to each other in this new world of chaos and what is worth fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They had taken back the North for their family, taken back their home. But once they had it, they understood they were going to have to fight to keep it. Daenerys’ arrived in the seven kingdoms a few short moons after they took back Winterfell and the war started almost immediately. 

Anyone would be a fool to go against a rival with dragons, but with her children gone, Cersei had nothing left but the crown, and fight is what she chose. With the war in the South and dead approaching just beyond the wall, times had never been more chaotic. 

Jon made it clear early on to any rivals that he and the North would fight to their last breath if anyone made a move on Winterfell. And the reputation he had acquired from his death and resurrection, the white wolf, one of the Gods, seemed to keep predators at bay for the time being. 

These were desperate times, though all their times seemed desperate lately. Sansa kept busy playing the delicate dance of politics the merciless and cruel had schooled her in for so long. Maintaining favor with the right families, while trying to anticipate where the war will lead. 

With Daenerys’ winning the battle for the throne in Kingslanding, Jon had been smart enough to make alliances early on, give her the backing of the North. Anything to destroy the Lanisters who would surely come after them next. And with dragons for children, she was a sure bet. 

Jon offered any support Daenerys would need and Sana offered her knowledge on Daenerys’ enemies, but it was only Jon who travelled south to Kingslanding when summoned. Sansa made it clear, she would not be returning to the place that held her captive anytime soon, if ever.

It was Littlefinger who spilled the truth of Jon’s parentage. That he wasn’t Ned Stark’s Bastard after all, but the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. His ploy had been to manipulative Sansa with the Northern crown and drive her and Jon apart. Make her the rightful heir, leader of the North, and his wife, but his game had unintended consequences and only served to push the pair closer together. 

With threats coming from all sides once the truth came out, Jon and Sansa had to secure their claim to the North and with the advisement of Sir Davos and Daenerys’, Sansa and Jon did the unthinkable. 

Their marriage was a political one. That was the arrangement. One meant to secure the North for the Starks. It was the only way Jon could keep Winterfell for the Starks and keep the vultures from swooping in to steal what was left of Sansa’s soul. He had promised he would protect her and that vow still meant everything to him. 

Together they were unstoppable. Sansa kept strong alliances with the other families of the North and the small folk. While Jon strategized and braced over what was to come. But despite the constant threat of doom, having Jon by her side and finally back home, Sansa found a kind of peace that had eluded her for so long. Despite their marriage being purely political, Sansa knew Jon loved her in his own way, as she did him and there was no one else she could imagine by her side as the world around them threatened to crumble.

 

As winter settled in so did the cold. Even wrapped in her cloak of furs the chill creeps in, but Sansa barely noticed it. The cold never bothered her. She’s a daughter of the North and the cold didn’t scare her. Especially not after what she’s been through. What she’s seen- Endured. She knew a cold that is as cold as it gets. Something this could never match and pales in comparison to. Sansa faintly fingered a dry course leaf that had fallen from the heart tree. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp air. 

Standing there, in the Godswood the past didn’t seem so far away. She could still picture it; the mossy pond, the sunlight shooting rays in through the branches above, lush greenery of every hue all around. There was peace here. The air smelled of it. The forest sang of it. She could picture her mother and father praying here, seeking guidance from the Gods. And Robb, Arya, Rickon, and Bran. She could still see them all. As if she opened eyes they’d still be standing there and this all was just a bad dream. 

But it’s the little things that have begun to disappear. Delicate details that defined each of them, slipping away like precious gems to the grains of time. As if piece by piece her heart was fading away too.

Her fingers tightened on the leaf, her grip relentless until it gave under the pressure and crumbed in her hand. When she opened her eyes, it’s the hollow feeling that lingered. One that was so piercing and pronounced, it’s more real to her now than even her memories. It’s an emptiness that’s colder than the cold. A hole in her belly and heart that reminds her her memories are all she has left. 

She heard his boots crunch in the snow before his voice ever found her. 

“My Lady?” Jon called, announcing himself. 

“You were looking for me?” Jon said as the sight of her made his breath catch for a brief moment. 

Standing in the simmering snow covered forest, cloaked in thick dark furs, her hair of fire matching that of the leaves still so ripe on the heart tree, her beauty like a beacon in the dark. It hits him how breathtaking she is, her beauty blinding in the snow. 

Her beauty no secret. Jon sees the way the men look at her. Others have always admired Sansa’s beauty, but only recently has it begun to stir something within him that he doesn’t understand. But as quickly as the thought found him, Jon banishes it away like every other time questionable thoughts found life. 

She may be his wife, but in name only, still unsure how he should feel about her. Afraid to cross some invisible line, especially with a girl who’s only had men stomp all over them.

Straightening her shoulders, Sansa composed herself. Ready’s herself as she does before tackling a challenge. And knowing Jon as she does, she knows this will be a fight. She has accepted the circumstance of their marriage far better than him. Her past marriages having taught her so many hard lessons. But Jon, he still rallies against it like a true rebel.

Turning to him, the sight of Jon brought a subtle smile to her face, made her heart begin to race, before her gaze drifted amongst the trees. She’s so grateful for him. She’s reminded of it every time he’s near. The only part of her heart that doesn’t feel broken. 

“Do you remember all the time we spent in these woods as children? You, Robb, and Theon sparring over who was the better swordsman. Arya looking on with envy, trying to find her way into the match. Bran scampering over the walls of Winterfell while Rickon would get tangled up in mother’s skirts.” Sansa recalled, a gentle smile filling her face, a fading light briefly touching her eyes as those memories still felt so alive in these woods, at Winterfell. Their ghosts still haunting every corridor.

“Aye… You were always singing.” Jon said with a subtle nod. His eyes focused upon her with a clear understanding she hasn’t summoned him out here to merely dig up old times, but still he indulged her. 

Their ghosts are what haunt her. In the halls, in the rooms. Sansa has worked hard to return Winterfell to its rightful glory. To make it the home she always knew and missed for so long. But there’s some things she can’t fix. There’s somethings that stand empty to matter what she does.

“This place used to be filled with so much joy, so much life.” Sansa said absently as her mind drifted between her memories and Jon standing off to the side of her.

“And it will again. Things are tumultuous now, but-” Jon carried on like a promise. Vows from an honorable man who only wanted to make things right. Make things good for her again. She can see it in his eyes when he looks at her. Now, and in other quiet moments when he senses her pain, her loss. He only wants to take her pain away.

Of all times, of all places, it’s Cersei’s words that torment her lately. Something she had said once. Something Sansa had dismissed as further cruelty at the time – 

‘You want things to be better, little dove? You need a child. It’s the only real happiness there is in the life.’ 

Those words now ring hauntingly in the hollow places within her. Sansa isn’t looking for real happiness anymore, but she is looking for a reason. A reason for all of this. A reason to keep fighting after all of their family is gone, but them. Because she’s tired of fighting for the sake of fighting. She knows there has to be something more. 

Sansa can hardly hear Jon’s words as Cersei’s rumble within her, as the ghosts of her slaughtered family haunt her. 

Steadying her breath to a slow, methodical pace, Sansa finally turns to Jon and meets his eyes dead on. 

“I want a child, Jon.” She says on an eerily calm voice, stopping him mid-sentence. 

As if her request were no more demanding than passing the ale over supper. She’s not usually this formal with him, but she understands the weight of her request and it feels safer to keep her heart guarded. As the last known lady Stark this is something she can do. This something she can give her dying family.

His words died instantly as his eyes hinged upon her as if she’s suddenly sucked all the air out of the woods. Their wedding night had been awkward to say the least. They had both had plenty of ale to ease the tension. Even with the revelation that Jon was only a cousin didn’t completely ease the situation. They had been raised together, half siblings a month prior to their wedding. Those things had a nasty way of sticking.

But Jon had been kind and funny that night. Nearly knocking over a side table as he stumbled about her room, making promises he was fine and not overserved. The room had been dark except the fire they kept for warmth. 

Standing before her bed as the tension grew in the room, Jon had promised not to hurt her. Just say the word and we’ll stop, he’d said. That night they had only disrobed the absolute necessities. They never looked at each other, never kissed. The only sound she heard was Jon’s uneven breath and the crackling of the fire. 

They had clung loosely to one another, his face buried in her shoulder, her eyes staring at the wooden beams above. Jon was gentle, but methodical. His lips peppering her shoulder with sporadic brushes of comfort. Trying with everything inside him not to cause her anymore pain. 

He hasn’t shared a bedchamber with her since. And sometimes Sansa wonders if he wishes her was that fire haired wildling Tormund had told her about. All the while tormented by the knowledge that Jon had once known and felt love. While their sad encounter had been the closest she ever came it to. Ramsay and torture the only other cruel touch she had known.

There’s fear building in Jon’s pupil and Sansa instantly understands she needs to explain herself. Taking a deep breath, she softens the blow.

“It’s our duty to produce an heir.” She explains as if her reasons are purely political. As political and   
strategic as their marriage. 

Even though he’s never said it, Sansa knows a part of Jon wished she had become with child after that night. Just gotten it over with and be done with it. A part of her did too.

As Sansa’s explanation hits him, Jon bursts to life in a flurry of energy. 

“We’re at war, Sansa. We have enemies coming at us from both sides-“

“All the more reason to secure our future with an heir.” 

She understood the threat, but after what Sansa had already been through she wasn’t afraid. What they were up against didn’t feel any more threatening than the terror she has known for so long. And she trusts Jon, feels safe with him. As safe as Sansa is capable of feeling. 

She believes they can win this fight. She believes in him even more than he believes in himself. She’s seen Jon destroy Ramsay, her greatest nightmare. And not even the dead are a match for dragons. She knows the risks, but she wants this. For her family, for them, to ensure they don’t disappear into oblivion like all the other Starks before.

“Our future? We don’t even know if there is a future after the dead breach the wall!” Jon rants losing himself to the passion in his gut.

Sansa’s chest heaves with frustration. She knows he’s scared, she’s scared too, but not of this, not of them. She has learned to maintain composure and grace under the most duress of situations, but Jon has this way of always getting to her. He digs under her skin, lighting a fire inside her that makes all her graces turn to ash. 

“I want a family, Jon!” She blurts out on a harsh desperate breath, her heart clenched as the real truth spills free.

Jon instantly stops, the anger dissipates from his eyes, drains from his face. His dark eyes drill into her, deep within her as his lips hold steady and mute. It’s the truth that softens him. Her political reasoning, an heir in the time of war sounded like madness, but her truth slipped free. And that he understood. 

Of course she wants a child, a family. They’re surrounded by their childhood home, their family home, but their family has been all but slaughtered or scattered to the winds except them. It’s a pain he understands. A loss he feels too. 

He sees the longing in her eyes, the emptiness. It’s a feeling that mirrors his own, but this- This isn’t an easy request. He loves her. He’d do anything for her. Destroyed Ramsay’s army for her. Took back their home for her. Yes, he had to try to get his little brother back, but he wanted to make Ramsay pay for what he did to Sansa too.

But this, what she’s asking of him now, it gives him an unsettling feeling deep in his belly. They’re at war in the South, the dead are coming, and he still hasn’t fully reconciled how he feels about her. He loves her, that’s the easy part, but how and why is far more murky and confusing. 

His wife. His beautiful wife. Who is his cousin, but once was his sister. Ned’s daughter, the man who raised him, but also Caitlyn’s daughter, the woman who hated him. Sansa herself couldn’t stand him until the world broke her heart. What would their family think of their union? What does he want? Is it safe to put her in such a delicate state when annihilation is coming at them from all sides? 

Jon feels so twisted up inside he can’t focus on any one single thought. Being pulled in every direction. He can’t think. Holding Sansa’s eyes he forces his tongue to work. 

“I need time to think on this.” He musters, before turning back toward Winterfell without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go  
> Where the wind don't change and nothing in the ground can ever grow  
> No hope, just lies, and you're taught to cry in your pillow  
> But I Survived"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 124 Kudos! 17 comments! I'm blown away by everyone's support. I really wasn't expecting that. I wasn't even sure if this story was silly and only sounded good in my head. So thank you! I hope chapter 2 is as much to your liking. I'm always available for questions if anyone has anyone. I love your comments. What you liked, what you didn't. it's all constructive to me.

Part 2

Ever since Sansa found him at the wall, Jon made it his mission to look out for her. He couldn’t save the rest of his family. They were either dead or gone, but Sansa, by the grace of the gods, somehow found her way back to him. 

As his wife, his family, she was his and he was hers, they were all they had left in this forsaken world. And no birth right, or mother of dragons, or the dead was going to take her from him again. Jon swore to himself, that as long as he was breathing he’d take care of Sansa. Do right by her. And do everything in his power to fix what the seven kingdoms had stolen from her and his family while they were apart. 

The fact that she was breathtaking was only a distraction. Beautiful, funny, fierce, and… Broken, those are the words Jon couldn’t bear to say aloud. Not to anyone. 

She’s unbelievably strong, holding all her pieces together. Still fighting when others would have just given up. But ever since the first time he laid eyes on her at Castle Black, Jon saw the shadows in her eyes. Shadows she didn’t have the last time he laid eyes on her at Winterfell. 

And while he has discovered how to bring her smile back, how to draw from her that laugh that lights up his world, there are still moments when things he can’t see or sense drag her back under. And she disappears so far inside herself, Jon doesn’t know where to begin to find her.

It’s that and so much more that sends him seeking the guidance of Ser Davos. A man who’s counsel he has grown to trust.

“She wants a child.” Jon exhaled in a heavy way that stripped the air from his lungs with the weight of his words. 

“And this surprises you, Your Grace?” Ser Davos asked in return, no sarcasm or belittlement on his breath, but rather honest inquiry. 

Pacing the creaking wooden floors of Winterfell, Jon’s mind feels like it’s spinning. 

“Yes- No- I don’t know.” He rambled, unsure of what he thinks about any of this.

“You’ve been married many moons now.” Ser Davos pointed out on a cautious breath.

“She’s my sister!” Jon blurted out in haste, his feet coming to a sudden and rapid halt as he faced the man before him.

“Forgive me Your Grace, but I thought you learned she was your cousin. I thought that’s why you married.” Ser Davos delicately reminded him. A man with a keen ability to remain reasonably composed despite what is happening around him.

“She is, but…” Jon’s words stumble as he lowered into a chair with a heavy sigh. 

“Your heart hasn’t caught up with your mind?” Ser Davos elaborates, putting the situation into words in a way that had eluded Jon all night.

With a heavy heart and brooding eyes, Jon nodded. “Aye,” He admitted with another sigh. 

“I could barely go through with it our wedding night. We were raised in this home together.” Jon admitted on a heavy breath before rising from his seat to pace once again. 

“After everything she’s been through. Everything they’ve been taken from her, forced upon her, I didn’t want to be another thing. I don’t want to force her to produce an heir so the North can have their safety.” Jon rambled on, his emotions waging battle over his heavy heart. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of being another weapon used against Sansa like the other men before him.

“It doesn’t sound like your forcing anything, Your Grace. Quite the contrary, it appears this is something Lady Sansa is asking for.” Ser Davos chimed in with as a voice of reason.

Jon stopped suddenly with Ser Davos’ words. This is why he had sought out his counsel. Why he trusted his word. Ser Davos had a way of making sense of the mess in his head. 

“Do you love her?” Ser Davos asked, staring directly into Jon’s eyes, man to man.

“I do,” Jon answered without hesitation. 

He didn’t know entirely know what kind of love it is. It felt different than his love for Ygitte. That had been passionate and wild. It was the love of a boy being swallowed by a new emotion. 

But the love he felt for Sansa was different. It didn’t feel uncontrollable within him. Quite the opposite, it felt precise, but innate, and he’d gladly give his last breath for her. Jon didn’t know if he was in love with Sansa, but he had no doubt he loved her.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
His talk with Ser Davos helped Jon to sort out a few things, but he still struggled with an unshakable feeling he was betraying his family. Betraying and saving them with Sansa. Breaking some unspoken law that separates the good from the despicable. 

They deserved a little light in these years of darkness, they deserved a gift instead of a sanction, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of shame he got when he thought about being tangled up with her. 

Ever since she found him at Castle Black, there were quiet moments when he’d be with her where Jon felt something he couldn’t quite describe, but couldn’t deny. And as soon as the feelings rose within him, so did the guilt, so did the shame. 

It’s that torture that has Jon keeping his distance from Sansa after her request. They use to spend hours together. Quiet evenings, talks over ale and a fire, silent walks through the Godswood. But he knows she’s wants an answer from him and since he doesn’t have one, Jon has stayed away. He knows it’s the coward’s way, but he just can’t face her yet.

Until one particularly cold Northern night fate forces his hand. Jon awoke in the dark to the sound of her cries. Frantic and piercing as they echoed through the long silent halls of Winterfell. He recognized her voice instantly. Without thought or reason, Jon grabbed his sword and cloak, and charged for her bedchamber.

Throwing open the door, sword raised, Jon readied for anything that awaited him. But there was nothing in there but her. The force of his arrival sent Sansa shooting up in her bed. 

A frantic breath spitting past her heaving lips as Sansa jumped from her bed with the sight of him. It’s fear he saw in her eyes when they meet in the dark. Panic as she stumbles back like a trapped animal. The glazed look in her eyes told him she’s barely awake and instantly, Jon lowered his sword. 

“Sansa,” he called gently to her on thick husky breath still laced with sleep.

A look of recognition registered in her eyes before her hands come up to bury her face. He heard rapid steps pad against the wooden floor, coming up quick behind him. Jon spun around just in time to spot Breinne and a handmaiden charging his way. 

“I’ve got her.” Jon explained in haste. His eyes locking with Breinne in quiet understanding before he slowly shut the door to Sansa’s bedchamber. Sparing what’s left of her pride.

As he turned back he spotted Sansa wiping old tears from her damp cheeks, her gaze fixed on the empty space that filled her room.

“Sansa,” Jon called to her as he took a slow steady step toward her.

Her gaze shot to his, her face unreadable, her emotions so tightly contained within her. 

“I’m fine,” She answered flatly before he could ever inquire.

“You were crying out.” Jon delicately explained as he moved closer to her. 

He had been in a dead sleep when her cries had awoken him. Perhaps if he had been awake he would have recognized them from the few times she did this very thing while they were holed up at Castle Black, but half asleep, his only concern was with her safety.

“I said I’m fine,” Sansa insisted as she pushed past him and moved to the dying fire. 

Unable to admit her affliction even when caught in it. Kneeling down on the fur rug before it, she drew her knees tight to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she stared blankly into the disappearing flame.

But she’s not fine, that much was very clear to Jon. She didn’t seem bothered or even aware that she’s only in her shift. She seemed completely unfazed by the bone chill suffocating in her room as she sat frozen in front of a dying fire as if it could offer her some hope for comfort. It pained his heart to see her like this. To see what the South and the Boltons have made of her.

Grabbing her fur cloak off a chair, Jon gentle wrapped it around her shoulders. She flinched with the touch, her eyes shooting up to his as he stood over her. Something wild and dangerous danced in her pupil. Blinding against the darkness of the room. It sent a chill running down Jon’s spine.

“You need to stay warm.” He managed to spit out against the haunting look in her eyes. Breaking free of her gaze, Jon moved to the fireplace. Laying new logs and stoking the fire back to life. 

As the flames began to dance and grow, Jon turned back to Sansa who still hadn’t made a sound. The look in her eyes ripped his heart right out of his chest. The void in her gaze was suffocating. It stripped the air clean from his lungs. 

He took down her monster and had hoped her demons would die with him, but Jon is learning that was a fools wishes. Watching a gaze that is somewhere miles away, trapped in a perpetual hell he didn’t understand, Ygitte’s voice rung in his head truer now than ever before- 

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’. 

It’s true, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to help her. Doesn’t know how to save her. Doesn’t know how to heal these wounds. He doesn’t even know what she sees when she disappears inside her head, when she screams in the night from demons that are dead and buried in the ground. 

She’s barely shared a word of what she went through, but after living alongside men at the wall, Jon has pretty good idea what vile things happened to Sansa, to his wife. He wonders if it felt anything like being stabbed through the heart by your own men. He wonders if it felt worse.

But he did know one thing she wanted. One thing she’s been bold enough to ask for. Something she longs for. Something he’s always been told brings women the greatest feeling of joy. The greatest sense of happiness. He wouldn’t know personally, he never had a mother. A motherless bastard who never imagined he’d have children. His plight was to live and die at the wall, but if this will finally bring her some real happiness…

“Is that really what you want?” Jon asked of her suddenly. 

Knowing in his heart they would have had to produce an heir sooner or later anyway. But finally in the midst of her pain, he realized he’d rather give her this as a gift than concede it out of duty. 

“…What you asked of me in the Godswood.” 

Slowly Sansa turned to him and when their eyes met he could see she has returned. Wherever she was, whatever thoughts held her prisoner, she’s broken free again. 

“I do,” She answers confidently, with absolute assurance.

He admired her strength, her resilience, she always came back fighting. She didn’t need him; he could see that. But she was his wife. He had sworn to protect her. He made that vow and it’s one he’ll never break. 

Sometimes he wished his spirit was as strong as hers. He wished he could take a knife in the back and keep marching on as if he never felt it. War was often thrust upon him now, but these days he felt less inclined to charge blindly into its fury. 

Jon nodded with her answer, a shuttered breath exhaled past his lips with unease, before he ran a quick shaky hand down his face. He saw now he might not feel completely confident in this path and that may be a burden he has to bare, but he’s willing to bare it for her.

“Alright then, every other night I’ll come to your bedchamber after dark-“ Jon coughed nervously against the tightening in his throat. 

“That should take care of it, I suppose.” 

Not that he would know. Wielding a sword, handling a shield, those were things Jon understood. Conceiving a child? He never thought he had a seed worth passing. 

He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. He couldn’t look at her and discuss these matters without feeling that strange bust of life in his chest and the guilt that followed it. Couldn’t be near her now and not think about her warm breath in his ear, the thumping of her pulse against his cheek, her body wrapped around him, it haunts him and damns him all in the same breath.

Jon’s hiding from her as he watched the flames dance and lick the charred logs. But it’s her touch that surprises him and drew him back to her as he felt her hand come to rest upon his.

“Thank you Jon,” She whispered against the crackling of the fire, her eyes locked on his as a sliver of a smile edged on her face. 

She knew how hard this was for him. She knew he was trying for her. And she’ll take it, because she believed in her heart this child would mend his broken pieces as much as hers. She believed this child would be the last hope for their dying family.

He offered her a quick nod, before he rose to his feet, bringing her with him. 

“You need your rest.” He instructed as he led her back to her bed.

Drawing her sights upon her bed, Sansa’s heart raced as if she was staring at a grave that’s ready for her to lie down in it. She knows what awaits her if she closes her eyes, what awaits her in dreams. 

Awake she could still feel it. What Ramsay did to her. Feel it on her skin, in her bones, inside her, she could feel him. 

But in dreams, her cruel mind remembered every finite detail and trapped her within its grip. The familiar burn of tears stung her dry eyes, but she held them at bay as she turned back to Jon. She won’t cry over what Ramsay did. She’s learned that tears are as pointless as wishing things could have been different.

“I’m not very tired.” Sansa lied. 

Her bones were weary, her mind exhausted, but her heart couldn’t bare what awaited her. Couldn’t bear the thought of going back into the flames.

It felt like a vice is crushing Jon’s heart within his chest when Sansa’s eyes met his again. The bursting pain was barely contained within her iris, but hidden on a breath that wanted him and the world to believe she was fine. 

She wasn’t crying. She never cried, but he saw her pain all the same. 

Gently touching the side of her head, Jon drew her near as he brought his lips to her chilled forehead. His kiss lingered, imploring his touch to mend her, but knowing it wouldn’t. 

His gut stirred with the feel of her skin beneath his lips, the feel of her faint breath splashing his neck. Clenching his stomach tight, he fought to hold it all in. Hold it all in its proper place. But so close to her, sometimes he felt like he was losing that battle.

Sansa all but collapsed into Jon’s touch as she drank in his comfort. Desperate to gulp it down like air after you’ve nearly drowned. Before Jon, she had forgotten touch could sooth, could heal. Make things feel ok when they were not. 

After leaving Winterfell, she only learned touch could strip and steal. And after having no one she could trust for so long, Jon’s comfort, his presence, stirred a desperate need inside her to not let it slip away ever again. 

His tender lips felt like the sweetest reassurance. The loneliness in her heart begged for more. To feel the brush of his lips on her cheeks, on her eyes, on my nose, on her lips. To connect and be loved like she hasn’t since leaving Winterfell as a child. 

She didn’t understand this feeling. It confused her in all its strength. It was not like the feeling she held for Joffrey when she was just a stupid little girl. This feeling felt bigger, deeper, and scarier as she stood at the abyss of it.

A part of her wanted to lean into him. Sink into him. Burying in his arms. But she wouldn’t, she didn’t want to spook him. She didn’t want to spook herself. 

He smelled of fur and fire, just like father did. Reminded her so much of him, more than anyone else. He was the closest thing she had to safety since her father died. 

Unlike Jon, Sansa wasn’t afraid of the obligations that came with their marriage, because she knew how much worse things could be. She’s been through enough hell to recognize mercy when it’s being given to her. 

And it pained her to admit, but she never really saw him as a brother anyway. Not like Robb, Bran, or Rickon. He was always an outsider looking in. Family, but not her brother. The bastard that broke her mother’s heart. 

That realization was heavy on her heart now, but made her yearn to make things right with him. Show him how wrong she had been. How much he meant to her now. And even though she loved being back home in Winterfell, she had come to realize it’s him that feels more like home than anything else.

“Will you stay?” She whispered in the dark. Her eyes closed, relishing his touch. Longing for his comfort, his company.

Pulling back slowly, Jon doesn’t let her go as he stared deep into her eyes. His pupil searching her blue orbs and she hoped he could see she was only asking for his company. She wasn’t pushing him. She didn’t want anything more.

“Aye.” He eventually conceded, giving into her as he so often did. And who better than him to keep watch and guard.

A faint smile ghosted over her lips with his answer. Slipping from his embrace they met at her bed. Each on a different side. Careful as they came to rest under the furs that they each stayed on their designated side.

Jon’s heart raced with uncertainty, but as Sansa’s eyes drift closed, he knew he made the right choice. 

Closing his own eyes, Jon was moments from drifting off too when he felt it. 

His mind jerked back into consciousness as he felt Sansa’s hand find his under the furs and tangle with his own. 

She didn’t make a sound, didn’t move, just this single line of connection. 

There’s a peace that washed over him. The same feeling, he got when he first saw her again at Castle Black. It’s the sense that he’s not alone, before his eyes fell closed and he slips under the spell of slumber.

More?


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not one to lie down and be a victim of circumstance anymore, Sansa decided to reach out to Jon. To stop being a bystander as he slipped away. So she planned her move and made it when the time was right. In the only place she could reach him. In a way her years of cruelty and duty as a woman had taught her, to catch a man when he was most vulnerable.

Sansa got what she wanted, but like many wishes granted, it came at a price that was almost more than she could bare. Jon kept his word, every other night he came to her chambers, but every time he did, she lost another piece of him in the morning light. 

She had half expected him to stumble drunk into her chambers on nights that duty called, but he didn’t. Jon was painfully clear headed, and she should have known he would never be sloppy and careless with her. 

Unlike Jon, Sansa still needed a cup of ale before his visits. Too much noise in her head otherwise. Her senses on alert, her nerves shot. She trusted Jon, knew he’d never hurt her, but her body couldn’t forget what she had been through. She had the scars to prove that. Though secretly she knew it was the scars people couldn’t see that really have her turned around.

Just as before, they only removed the bare necessities. Jon would take off his breeches and she’d hike up her shift. Something Sansa was grateful for. Her once beautiful body left her with a feeling of shame now. Knowing how it was used. The things that had been done with it, to it. It left her with a sick feeling in her throat if she thought on it for too long. 

She willed herself to become accustom to her scars. To not let them be a reminder of Ramsay. To not let him live on. Not let him win. But she hasn’t quite convinced herself of that delusion just yet. 

Jon always took the lead. While Sansa stared at the ceiling, unsure how she is supposed to feel. Drifting in and out of her body. She’s grown more grounded then before. Every time a little more present. 

But it had been a challenge in the beginning. Her mind was so use to floating away from her body whenever Ramsay touched her. 

A part of her had been scared when they first started this. After everything she had been through. But Jon wasn’t Ramsay, she would always remind herself. And when Jon was finished he’d plant a single tender kiss upon the exposed skin of her shoulder. It always felt like an act of endearment and apology all at once.

After a few weeks of trying, Sansa barely saw Jon outside of meals in the great hall and her chambers. Jon couldn’t look at her, not even when they spoke, his gaze would divert anywhere but her. And on the rare occasion she’d caught him sneaking a glance, he’d disappear before she could reach out to him. 

If he were any other man she’d think he saw her as a burden, that he was probably with some handmaiden in a quiet darkened hall, but Sansa knew that wasn’t Jon’s way. She knew in her heart he was off brooding somewhere. Keeping himself busy with plans of war while eating himself alive over some injustice he thought he was bringing upon them.

Her heart sank with loneliness. Winterfell felt more empty now than ever. Sansa missed Jon desperately. She hadn’t realized how much his presence had filled a hole inside her until his absence left that space hollow once again. He was her companion, her family, all that she had left. And though she was strong willed enough to persevere without him, she didn’t want to lose him.

Not one to lie down and be a victim of circumstance anymore, Sansa decided to reach out to Jon. To stop being a bystander as he slipped away. So she planned her move and made it when the time was right. In the only place she could reach him. In a way her years of cruelty and duty as a woman had taught her, to catch a man when he was most vulnerable. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With his weight still upon her, his seed inside her, his breath heavy against her neck from release, Sansa seizes the moment while his guard is still down. 

Tentatively, Sansa reaches for him, wrapping her arm around his back, resting it against the thin fabric of his tunic as her fingers faintly tangle in the hair at the back of his neck, as she holds him in her loose hug. A quiet embrace. A moment of closeness after giving him her body. 

Her face leans into the side of his head where he’s buried in the curve of her neck. For a brief moment she feels deeply connected him. His breath falling into line with her own. 

Like the hug they shared when they first reunited. But deeper as their bodies lie perfectly intertwined. 

Her heart soaks up the intimacy, the closeness to him, as a girl this is almost what she thought it would be like to lie with her husband. To love and be loved.

But as soon as she finds it, it’s stolen away like everything else she’s ever cherished. 

Jon finds her wrist behind his neck, pulling her arm off him and back down to her bed. His grip holds steady but light for a moment. 

On instinct Sansa tries to pull free as her heart sinks with his rejection. But he doesn’t let go. Sansa gives a firmer tug and Jon instantly relents. 

Releasing his hold upon her as his face shoots up, a mixture of startle and fear blinding in his pupil as he hovers above her. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to-” he rapidly pleads on a heavy burdened breath.

She can see it in his wild eyes, hear it on his quick breath, he thinks he’s crossed a line with her. Hurt her in some way. Reminded her of monsters who use to thrive on her pain.

“It’s ok,” Sansa reassurances on a cautious breath. The look in his tortured eyes draws her hand slowly, cautiously up to his face. 

Her fingertips tenderly brush the beard on his cheek. Her touch trying to echo her words, it’s ok. 

Because he couldn’t be further from the truth. He could never mirror those monsters. She wished he hadn’t pulled away, but he didn’t hurt her when he grabbed her. She trusts he would never hurt her. 

And the fear in his dark eyes as they barrel down on her, as she gently touches his face, makes her heart soften. 

Those dark haunting eyes- gods she’s missed them. Staring deep into them. And the safety they can bring her. A sense of home. 

But the longer she stares into his dark depths the more the feelings change. The more something deep in her belly begins to stir with life. 

The look in his eyes seems to shift into something she doesn’t entirely recognize, but the twist in her gut as he stares down upon her feels like he might share the same new feelings finding life inside her. 

She becomes consciously aware of the feel of him between her thighs. The feel of his skin against her own as he hovers over her. Almost fully clothed, this is only place their bodies truly coms together on these nights that are meant for duty.

She notices his breath has changed, grown deeper, slower, just as she feels her own breath heat up. 

She can’t look away as his eyes barrel down upon her. There’s something wanting in his eyes. Something she’s seen in other men before, but never Jon. And unlike the others before him, she doesn’t fear it. It makes her heart quicken too.

“Jon,” His name slips involuntarily past her lips on a wanting breath she barely recognizes. 

What she’s asking for, what she’s begging, she doesn’t know. The plea comes from a place deep within her she barely understands.

His name, the sound of wanting on her breath, it snaps him out of this thing, whatever it is. Instantly Jon pulls away from her. 

Lifting off her body, he moves quickly to the edge of her bed. Taking a seat as he makes quick work of his breeches.

Staring at the wooden beams above her, trying to steady her breath, Sansa doesn’t understand what just happened. She does, but she doesn’t. 

She wanted Jon, to feel close to him again, but what came to life between them was something unexpected. It was electric, and intoxicating. She’s felt twinges of it before when close to him, but never to that intensity. 

He was her brother, now her cousin, her husband. The only man who’s shown her kindness with no motive behind it. Her scarred heart doesn’t know what to think.

Tugging her shift back down her bare legs, Sansa glances over at Jon. His back is to her, but she can tell he’s almost done refastening his breeches and once he does, she knows he’ll be gone like always. But she doesn’t want that.

Licking her lips, Sansa propels herself to will him to stay. The sinking in her heart warns that if she thought he was distant before, after what happened between them tonight, she can’t even imagine how much further he’ll run.

“Tell me about the wilding you loved.” She says suddenly, bringing life to the otherwise quiet room. 

Saying the first thing that comes to mind. Something that has bounced around her head many times, but at this moment she would have said anything to make him stay a little longer.

Jon’s movements instantly stop. His back goes rigid as he slowly turns back toward her. His dark eyes holding hers for a moment. 

“How did you-“

“Tormund likes to tell tales when he has too much ale.” She answers, a smile cracking on her lips with the memory of that fiery redhead throwing arms and stumbling about as he recants a particularly adventurous tale.

Watching Jon’s strong face, watching his features set expressionless, she thinks about the redhead wildling he loved. Wonders if that’s who he thinks about when he’s inside her. And if that’s true, Sansa feels she has every right to know the girl he’s pretending her to be.

“Sansa, I don’t think now is the time-“ Jon starts with his excuse. One Sansa has no patience for.

“Then when? You won’t talk to me anymore. You avoid me at every turn. You hardly look at me, Jon-“ Sansa lets the heat of her tongue and grudges find voice and get the better of her.

“Sansa,” Jon’s voice edges like an impatience, warning her not to go down this road, not to force this. 

“Fine, you’re free to go.” Sansa says incredulously on a heavy sigh as she sinks back down onto her pillows. Her gaze shooting back up to the wooden beams above her, refusing to look at him.

Her hand drifts to her stomach before her fingers aimlessly rub over her shift as she wonders if their babe might already be growing within her. 

She hopes Jon will be as good of a father as she believes he will. All she wanted was the Jon she found before they took back Winterfell. All she wanted was for them to be a family again. Not the man who had become a stranger. 

She swears she’ll be a good mother either way. Love this babe with everything left inside her. Love it the way all of her family would if they were still here.

Watching her carefully Jon’s heart weighs heavy. He knows she hates that he is shutting her out. He hates it too, but he doesn’t know a way around it. 

Now that he makes a home in her bed almost nightly, all the feelings he has fought to keep under wraps threaten to burst free. It’s a constant battle to not go down that road. 

To not give into the urge to get lost in her. To not become drunk off the sweet smell of her fiery hair lying all around him as he buries his face against her shoulder. To not let the softness of her skin seduce him. The feel of her all around him drive him mad. To not let her smile bewitch him. Her heart melt him. 

She deserves to be loved, cherished. She doesn’t deserve to have a husband the North thrust upon her to keep her home, one that use to be her brother, lusting after her. Treating her like all the rest had. She’s sacrificed enough of herself for the cause already. 

But the frustration in her eyes, the pain of rejection, it weakens him. Makes him soft to her. 

His furrowed gaze drifts to where her hand rests on her flat belly. Wondering if his child grows within her. And if it didn’t, how soon it would be before one did. 

He was hurting her, the woman who will carry and bear his child. The only family he has left. The last thing Jon wants to do is hurt her. 

He feels caught between a rock and hard place as his efforts to keep her safe, even from him, only break her heart in return. And if Sansa is reaching out the way he knows she is, the least he can do is meet her halfway.

Taking a deep breath, Jon relents. “I’m sure Tormund told you she had red hair… She was fierce. Had a wicked tongue. And could do some real damage with a bow.” Jon admits, a smile finding his face with a quick chuckle at the memory of Ygritte. 

Sansa’s gaze drifts back to him as soon as he begins to talk. Her eyes wide, hanging on his every word. Understanding that he is trying, really trying for her. 

“And you loved her?” Sansa asks.

Jon takes a moment, a long breath exhales past his lips before he swallows hard and slowly nods. 

“Aye, I did.” He says on a low breath as the pain of love and lose still lingers within him. As the memory of his first love dying in his arms resurfaces.

“She loved you?” Sansa continues her eyes hinged upon him. Soaking up his connection she had missed so much.

“Aye,” Jon answers with a quick nod as his face drops.

Sansa hates to see his pain. A pain that still lingers even now, but there’s something she needs to know. She bites down on her lower lip, a word of caution stirring within her, but Sansa casts it aside, because a part of needs to know the answer to this question.

“Is she who you think about when we’re together?” Sansa dares to ask.

Jon’s face rises again, he stares at Sansa for a moment, the intensity of his gaze making her breath labored and her heart pick up its pace. 

“No,” He finally admits. “Never.”

Prickles form under her skin with the look in his eyes. Something in his pupil, something in the way he looks at her, she can’t quiet describe. She knows she should let sleeping dogs lie, but her lips have other plans. 

“What do you think of?”

Jon’s gaze drops with her question. His eyes falling to his lap as a silence fills around them. It’s the kind of silence that fills Sansa with unease. As if there’s something unsaid floating between them. So close she could reach out and touch it, and yet it’s too far away. 

When the silence begins to stirs nerves in her belly, Jon finally looks back up at her. 

“Have you ever been in love, Sansa?” Jon asks, ignoring her previous question.

With the tables turned, Sansa sits a little taller, stronger. 

“I thought I loved Joffery once, but that was just the dreams of a silly little girl… I don’t believe in those things anymore. I’m done with all that now.” She answers with confidence. 

Her head held high. She doesn’t want Jon or anyone else seeing her as a fragile flower, made of glass, she’s neither. She wants Jon to know she doesn’t need his love, doesn’t need anyone’s, but he does matter to her more than anyone else. 

The girl she had been was foolishly naïve and it had cost her everything. Sansa let that girl die to survive and the woman she is now doesn’t believe in fairytales. 

A feeling similar to the one he felt when his men stabbed him fills Jon’s chest as he stares at Sansa. Her words are brutal and heartbreaking. It’s crushing to see her give up on so much she once loved. It’s crushing to see the price past atrocities have cost her. 

He doesn’t want that for her. Ned wouldn’t have either. 

She deserves to know love, to be loved. His heart feels heavy knowing that as her husband, if anyone is going to give her that it should be him. And he does, he does love her. In all the ways he should and in some he’s not sure what to make of.

“Sansa,” Jon says on a heavy breath, reaching out, taking her hand in his. 

He doesn’t know what to say. The right words always escape him. He settles to show her as his lips come down on her hand in a tender kiss. 

“You know what you mean to me, right?” His breath ardent, the seriousness of his gaze imploring her as his heart pounds hard in his chest.

A small smile finds her lips as her other hand finds his face, her thumb sweep gently along his scruff. 

“What you mean to me.” She says in return a lightness filling her eyes.

Jon offers Sansa a small smile in return, before he tries to pull his hand free, but she only grips it tighter. 

His eyes find her in return, searching before she explains. 

“Will you stay tonight?”

There’s a hesitance in his eyes, he hasn’t shared a bed with her since the night of her terrors. 

“Please…” Sansa all but begs. Making herself vulnerable in a way she rarely does for anyone. In a way that’s hard for her to do.

Her pleas coupled with the look in her eyes makes him cave as Jon nods, giving in.

Leaning back down on her pillows and furs, Sansa watches as Jon comes to rest beside her. She gazes at the profile of his face as he settles in, his strong features, his scars, making silent notes, until he slowly turns her way.

Their eyes meet as he offers her a small smile. Reaching out, Sansa faintly traces the scar along his eye with her fingertips. 

“You’re a good man, Jon. I’m lucky to have you.” She confesses, the words echoing in her heart. 

After all the monsters she’s known, her heart swells with gratitude in knowing there’s at least a few good men left and she got one. She doesn’t need him to want her as a man wants a woman. Doesn’t need him to love her as a man loves a wife, but she sees now she does need him.

Pulling her hand free, Jon places a tender kiss on her palm before letting go. “As I you.” He says in return.

Jon falls asleep easily enough, but long after the moon hangs high, he comes to. A faint almost tickling against my stomach brings him back from the throws of sleep. And to his complete surprise that tickling sensation is just the start of it. 

As his heavy eyes open in the dark, he finds a veil of fiery locks burrowed against his arm. Sansa’s delicate hand is on the tunic covering his stomach, the unfamiliar faint movements of her fingers are what stirred him from his sleep. Jon freezes with the realization, his muscles go tight. He hasn’t slept this close to a woman since Ygritte.

Jon is certain Sansa must have done this in her sleep and not by choice, because he can’t imagine she’d do it if she were aware of her actions. Lying awake as the cold air seeps in through the cracks of Winterfell, the faint fire illuminating the room with a touch of light, Jon isn’t sure what to do. 

He doesn’t have much room to move over, he is already pretty close to the edge. He quickly rules out waking Sansa and asking her to move over; that would only humiliate her.

He could move Sansa himself, but then he runs the risk of her waking with his hands on her in the dark without her prior consent and that has the potential of turning bad very fast. The last thing Jon would ever want is to frighten Sansa the way others before him did. 

The option comes to mind that he can wrap his arm around her, make them both more comfortable, but he isn’t sure how he feels about that idea. 

Stuck with no good ideas and seeing how peacefully she is sleeping, not tormented by hells of her past, Jon settles on letting it go for the night. Closing his eyes, he doesn’t find it hard to slip back under.

As the night wears on Jon finds himself awakened once again to the feel of Sansa snuggling in closer. And the closer she gets, the more he finds myself embracing her. 

Sansa’s arm reaches further around him, her face is snuggled in deeper, her leg is hiked up on him, and eventually, Jon’s arm wraps around her. 

By the end of the night. Sansa’s face is snuggled against his chest, her arm is sprawled across his stomach, her leg spread lazily across his hip, while his arm cradles her near. Any closer and she’d be atop him like one of the furs. 

Sansa doesn’t know. Jon wakes before she does, gently untangling them, before slipping free from the bed. 

Sansa doesn’t come to for any of it, but she murmurs something close to a protest as he goes. 

This quiet and secret intimacy they found in the dark surprises Jon. So certain it would feel wrong to have Sansa so close but for subtle reasons, it doesn’t. 

Like the way her skin feels silky soft against his own thicker rougher flesh. The way her hair smells deliciously sweet. Something uniquely Sansa, almost like the wintergreens in the forest and peppermint, but different; thicker, muskier, but still sweet. And he finds he can’t get enough of it.

It haunts Jon, follows him throughout the day the way Sansa’s body fits perfectly against his own as if cut from the same stone. And as much as he hates to admit it, when Sansa sleeps she’s breathtakingly beautiful. He could stare at her all night, but he won’t, because as much as he’s willing to admit he enjoyed having her snuggled close beside him as they slept, Jon’s not sure how he feels about the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of this latest development in their relationship? Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos! They are very appreciated and I take every comment into account. Your comments help guide and inspire me, especially since I never planned for this go beyond a single drabble. So if you have thoughts to share, please keep them coming. And thank you all again for reading!


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want all that is not mine  
> I want him but we’re not right
> 
> In the darkness I will meet my creators  
> And they will all agree, that I’m a suffocator"

Their pasts collide on an early winter morning when the ice has begun to layer and the sun lies hidden behind thick grey clouds. Sansa sought Jon out to make further preparations for supplies Winterfell will need before winter really sinks its teeth in. 

She should have knocked; she realizes that the moment after she barges in.

Storming into his chambers unannounced, Sansa catches Jon in the middle of dressing. His breeches are in place at his waist, but his tunic lie hanging off a chair beside him. 

It’s his chest and abdomen she spots even before his eyes. And the sight before her is so startling it sends a quick gasp from her lips. 

Sansa knew the tale, knew what his brothers of the watch had done to him, but seeing it with her own eyes was another matter entirely. 

Deep raw gashes line his stomach and chest. The flesh is red and blinding against the contrast of his pale skin. It still looks raw and painful. 

Knife wounds from a night Jon never speaks of. Wounds from a night that fill him with nightmares he thinks she doesn’t hear. Haunting him as her own demons haunt her. 

The horror in Jon’s eyes as her gaze drifts up to his own causes Sansa to instantly steel herself. A skill she has learned after witnessing more horrors than anyone should.

Her eyes become fixed, her mouth set in an expressionless flat line, but her heart thumps wildly in her chest as his wounds taunt her in her periphery. A sight she’s certain she can never unsee again.

“Sansa,” Jon’s breath drawls with unease as he grabs wildly at his tunic before yanking it over his head. 

“I wish you would knock.” He quietly admonishes.

“I’m sorry,” Her apology falls numbly off her lips as her eyes hold fixed upon his scars that are now covered under his tunic. 

No matter though, her mind can still picture them perfectly as if they were still standing brightly before her.

The way Jon moves with unease Sansa can tell he’s ashamed, disheartened she saw them. She realizes now she’s not the only one with scars to hide. But his fascinate her, draw her in. After the initial shock wears off, Sansa wants to see them again. She wants to understand them.

Slowly Sansa moves to Jon as he continues to busy himself. Distract himself from her and the shame he feels.  
“Is that what they did to you?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Jon stops his fidgeting and finally turns to her. “Aye,” He says on a rugged breath.

“Can I see?” She asks cautiously, standing before him now. Her eyes imploring him with a gentle ease she hopes to coax him with.

“You saw it,” He replies gruffly with a hint of agitation. Making it clear he doesn’t appreciate this inquiry.

“I wasn’t frightened by it. Just taken off guard that’s all… You don’t have to hide from me Jon. I have scars too.” She says, trying to convince him. 

Needing to see, needing to understand what happened, understand him. Her fingers faintly reach and play with the bottom edge of his tunic.

Barely a foot between them, Jon stares at her for a long moment unrelenting. “Please,” Sansa presses with a gaze that pierces him.

The thought of her scars is what cracks the walls he’s built up. The thought of what she means by that weakens him. He’s seen some markings on her arms when he lies with her in the faint fire light, but Jon sometimes wonders what hides beneath her shift.

Jon holds like a fortress for a moment longer before a ragged sigh rattles off his chest and he reluctantly lifts his tunic. 

It never ceases to amaze him the power she wields over him. He’s stubborn to a fault, but when she pleads, his defenses fall.

Sansa feels overwhelmed by the magnitude of the brutality littering his body, but she doesn’t show it. 

Reaching for his tunic, she tugs to pull it over his head and off him.

“Sansa…” Jon’s breath seems to warn with uncertainty as his hands move to halt her.

“I can’t see it.” She explains herself, the one scar that intrigues her most. The one over his heart. The one she knows was the death blow.

Seeing the determination in her eyes, the need, he relents, because he wants her to trust him as much as he needs to trust her. 

Reluctantly, Jon removes his tunic with a low grumble and lays it on the chair it came from. 

Sansa’s eyes are fixed upon his scars. The savagery, it aches in her heart, imaging what it must have been like for him. His final moments, knowing he was dying. Helpless to stop it.

Faintly, her fingers find his flesh. Jon’s breath sucks in unsteady on contact, his chest caving inward with the rattle of his breath, but he doesn’t push her away, so Sansa continues. Her fingertips faintly run along each scar. Trying to imagine what the moment must have been like. How it must felt, both in his body and in his heart. 

As she reaches the top one, the one above his heart, her breath deepens with sadness. The realization that he had died. They had stolen him from her like all the rest, breaks Sansa’s heart. The thought stirs within her, what it would be like if he hadn’t come back. If she had arrived to a Castle Black without him. Returned to Ramsay for a reward. The horrors that would have awaited her. The punishment for being the only known Stark left in this world. 

The thought of not having Jon here. Not seeing his smile, his laugh. His brooding brow, and heavy gate. His presence, his assurance, his safety- The thought is more painful than remembering anything that has ever been done to her. Her breath shutters in her chest, her throat tightens as tears sting her eyes but she holds them at bay. 

Leaning into Jon, Sansa rests her face against his chest, just above his scars, her arms wrap around his strong back, her fingers settle at the contours of his spine as she says a silent prayer. Sansa doesn’t pray, not anymore, but in that moment, she knows there’s no one else to thank. 

“Thank the gods they brought you back.” She whispers on rattled breath as tears brim her eyes.

She feels Jon’s hands settle at her waist, returning her embrace. She lingers there for a long moment, lost in him, the complete sense of having him here. The feel of his presence all around her, before she slowly pulls back ever so slightly. 

Eyeing the one scar that haunts her most, without thought or reason, Sansa leans back into him, her lips coming down upon it. Wishing she could heal it with her touch.

Jon practically jumps as her lips make contact, his hands flinches at her waist, but Sansa doesn’t let that dissuade her. She yearns to comfort him, reassure him that he’s still handsome, he’s still just as great. That his scars make him stronger than the others. 

She wants to heal him as he has tried so desperately to heal her. Her lips move to a few other wounds within reach before returning to the first. The one that stole him from this world. From this close Jon smells like home, thick and musky, rich like the woods. 

It’s in that moment that Sansa recognizes something has changed within her, inexplicably and without warning. No part of her wants to pull away from their embrace. 

She becomes consciously aware that her lips crave the feel of his skin beneath them once again and not just for comfort. 

Her heart quickens, she never thought she’d feel this way. Never thought she’d feel safe enough. After Ramsay, Sansa thought she would never feel this way about a man again.  
She would never yearn to touch him. She would never yearn to feel him touch her back. 

Intimacy, sensuality, those concepts seemed foreign and terrifying to Sansa after the brutality she experienced at the hands of Ramsay. She had given up hope her body, her heart would ever be healed enough to want such a thing. 

She could do it, participate in the act of their bodies coming together, but actually desire it, she thought such a fire had been extinguished. But here she is, Jon’s skin a breath beneath her lips and all Sansa wants to do is kiss him again.

Emboldened by this new feeling she thought had died within her, Sansa’s fingers skim down Jon’s chest to this stomach as she feels his hand slowly tangle in her hair. 

Sansa realizes as she places a kiss just above his scar, her lips trailing northward up his chest, that her feelings for Jon are changing. And that emotion she had written off as a curse of the heart was actually starting to pump within her veins. 

Like it or not, she was falling for Jon. Falling for his kindness, his strength. Falling for the way he put others before himself. The way she knows she can trust him. The way he makes her feel safe. 

As his breath deepens and grows labored beneath her lips, as his fingers massage her scalp while the other holds her close, Sansa thinks Jon might be falling too.

As her lips reach the base of his neck, she gets the urge to taste him. To know the flavor of his skin and the feel of it on her tongue. 

Opening her mouth, Sansa’s boldly deepens her kiss. Her tongue brushing the skin where his neck and shoulder meet. 

But as his salty sweet flavor finds her, Jon suddenly jerks back. The hand on her waist holding her in place as he pulls away. 

“Sansa,” He says breathlessly like a word of caution. Uncertainty blinding in his eyes as their gaze meets.

“I’m your wife, Jon.” She says simply, a heaviness on her breath as he pulls away from her like always. 

As if that should explain it all away. As if that mere title should wash away all the other roles they shared before this one. As if it should bring him the same justification it does for her.

Releasing her, Jon swiftly pulls his tunic back on. “Aye, and my cousin, and my sister before that.” Jon rants on a cynical breath and she starts to see he’s as a frustrated with himself as he is with her.

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for this.” She throws back at him, feeling her own blood begin to boil. 

Tired of his stubborn honor. An honor she’s never known anyone to cling to as much as him, except maybe father.

“But you did, you did ask for this. Our marriage was to save Winterfell that’s all.” Jon carries, admonishing her as he does himself. 

Guilt riddled that he lost himself for a moment. Lost himself under the feel of her lips, under her touch. Enjoying her in a way that makes his noble heart feel sick with guilt. 

Marrying her to keep their home was one thing, taking pleasure in her was another. What would Ned think? What would Robb think? Is he not betraying them and everything their family stood for before the seven kingdoms tore them apart?

The realization of what he’s implying hits her and it’s a cruel blow. 

“You blame me for wanting a child?” She asks him, almost breathless she’s so taken aback. 

She sees now a part of him blames her for opening that door. For asking something of him that pushes beyond the boundary their marriage in name only was meant for. For pushing them to explore what else there was to have. No matter they would have been expected of it sooner or later, it’s because she asked.

“I can’t shake the feeling what we’re doing it wrong, Sansa. What would father think? Or Robb? Or your mother?” Jon admits on a burdened breath. 

Admitting in his mind, in his heart he is still a Stark and no secret Targaryen bloodline was going to change what a lifetime created.

His brooding, duty bound heart throws her over the edge after everything she’s seen and been through. 

“Wrong?” Sansa scoffs loudly in disbelief.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Jon. Watching our father’s head fall from his body was wrong. Being taunted with tales of the head of our brother’s direwolf being sown to his body, that was wrong. Seeing our little brother murdered by the same man who loved to torture and rape me every night. Your own brothers murdering you. Those things are wrong, Jon! Sometimes I fear we are the only decent thing left in this horrible world.” Sansa spits out, her chest heaving as she loses all composure. 

Her eyes drilling into him as if he’s gone mad, as if he has no sense of the cruelty and brutality that has ripped their lives apart. 

Turning abruptly, Sansa storms out of his chambers as quickly as she came. 

Because for a man who’s seen so much, endured so much. He can be so bloody naïve sometimes. Let’s his honorable, duty bound heart make him blind to the realities Sansa can’t ignore or forget. 

Her rampage leaves him breathless where he stands. Jon wants to go after, every gut instinct inside him orders him to, but his feet never move. 

Instead he finds himself lowering into the chair his clothes had been resting on. He finds his head falling into his hands with a heavy sigh. 

What is he doing? One minute he’s drowning in her, his lungs are filling with her, his senses blinded by her. And gods help him, he loved it, every moment. Then the next minute he’s breaking her heart or sending her into a fit of rage. 

Jon feels like he’s being torn in two. Fighting to keep her honor, keep his own, and their families. 

While also falling for a wife he doesn’t deserve. A wife who deserves far better than a bastard who can’t move past his own demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The progress is slow, but I believe it realistically would be. They were raised as siblings and Jon is a character known for holding steadfast to his sense of honor and duty. With that said, can you see the baby steps forming? Does it feel true to character? Is it coming through that their relationship is growing and changing? Do you like where it's headed? Is there something you'd like to see more of?
> 
> And thank you for the all kudos and comments! I'm absolutely blown away by the support for this story. I never expected to receive anything like this. Especially since this is my first Sansa/Jon story. I cannot thank you all enough!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you must wait,  
> Wait for them here in my arms as I shake"
> 
> You -Keaton Henson

It's always Sansa who’s trying, who’s reaching, pushing them up against the borders of his comfort zone. Trying to make them as grand as the roots they sprang from. 

Jon’s grown accustom to it, expects it, but he doesn’t realize how much until she suddenly and abruptly stops. 

Like the coldness settling in all around them with the arrival of winter. Covering the North in an unrelentless, unforgiving freeze, Sansa pulls away too. 

She doesn’t seek Jon out, locking her chamber door at night. 

It takes barely two days of this cold before Jon feels raw from her withdrawal. 

She was his constant, his focus even when he didn’t want her to be. 

And with her shadow gone, he feels the cold sink into his bones more deeply than he can ever remembering feeling.

Jon doesn’t understand and since Sansa’s chosen to hide away in the shadows of Winterfell, creeping through corridors and slinking through darken halls, he can’t ask her personally. 

Jon finds himself second guessing every moment before this. 

Their fight haunts him. He knows he upset her, wounded her. He had been rash and harsh. 

Jon wishes he could tell her it was himself he was most angry with. Angry with himself for being weak. Giving into his own selfish desires for a girl who’s been sacrificed too many times in the name of another’s cruel selfish needs. 

He wants to be a good husband, but isn’t sure what that means. 

Most of his life he was a bastard meant to stand in the shadows of trueborns and a watcher of the wall after that. 

Never to marry. Never to father children. Nothing at the wall or beyond it prepared him to be a good husband. 

What he had with Ygitte taught him to love, but not be a husband. Ned’s memory taught him to sacrifice and protect the ones you love above all else. To be noble and honorable, even if that means lying to the ones you love most in order to keep them and the defenseless safe. 

Jon loves Sansa and he thinks he could love her more, but it’s the urge to tread lightly after all she’s been through that has him tripping over his own two feet. 

He fears he’s severely damaged their relationship after their last fight until he overhears a couple chambermaids in the hall, the Lady of Winterfell is having her moon blood.

Instantly Jon understands, Sansa isn’t with child. 

An urgency begins to race in his heart with the news. With the understanding. 

He has to find her, has to see her. Make sure she is alright, because the pang in his heart warns she isn’t.

Storming through the halls, Jon searches any place he thinks she might go. Until he finds her in the last place he expected.

It’s Brienne who gives her location away. Standing guard beside the old ironwood door to the crypt as Jon comes charging toward them. 

He hardly pays her any mind until she promptly steps in front of his path, blocking his way into the crypts.

His eyes meet hers in a flash. Challenge and impatience huffing from his chest, but only sad resolve meets his gaze in return.

“Your Grace, the Lady of Winterfell wishes to be alone.” She states solemnly.

His shoulders go slack with understanding as a heavy breath leaves his chest. This is just as he feared.

“Is that really what she needs?” Jon implores, his breath rough with determination and guilt that he didn’t recognized her pain sooner.

Brienne holds strong for a moment, holding her loyalty to Sansa, before she relentless and steps aside. 

Jon rushes in, the darkness swallowing him as he descends deeper into the earth. 

Lighted torches greet him and guide his way, but there isn’t another soul in sight, another sound but himself, until he spots her. 

Standing silently before the statue to his mother’s tomb.

She hears him on approach, spinning around to see who has found her, and when their eyes meet he sees a quick flash of panic surface in her pupil before it’s rapidly replaced by an expressionless void. Like a shield she carries within her going up.

“Your Grace,” She greets him with a bow of her head and subtle curtsy as he reaches her.

The formality of it breaks Jon’s heart. She rarely calls him that and he hates it every time she does. 

But then her eyes evade his once again and she moves to leave. 

On instinct he reaches for her, taking hold of her arm to halt her escape. 

But still she won’t meet his gaze. Her face downcast and fixated on the dirt beneath their feet.

His heart is heavy when he takes her cheek into his palm, gently lifting her face to his. 

“Sansa…” He calls on a burdened breath. 

He hadn’t realized how much this hurt him too until he sees her pain. Hadn’t realized how much he’d let himself relish in the thought of a little one. 

Of something he never thought he’d be deserving enough to receive. Not until she wanted to give him one. 

To give him the family he always wanted, but never dared believe he’d get. To give him a family after the one they both loved and cherished had been snuffed from this earth.

Their eyes meet and the pain he sees within her pupil is so blinding it strips the breath from his lungs momentarily.

But then she steps back from his touch. Retreating as she turns back to the statue of his mother. 

Her retreat twists at his already aching heart. “Sansa, if I had known her were in pain I would have-“ 

He tries before she swiftly cuts him off.

“Sometimes I feel like if I just stand here long enough they’ll all come back. If I’m just patient enough, wish for it hard enough, they’ll return. Their footsteps will fill the halls, their laughter, their voices will echo from the walls. I would gladly take their grief and dismay if only their final breaths could be undone... If only they would come back.” Her voice is like a thick whisper, but edges with a pain so deep it’s sharp and cuts like a knife.

“Sansa…” Jon doesn’t know what to do as he reaches out for her again. 

He doesn’t know how to quell her pain, her grief. Learning of Ned’s murder, Robb’s, then watching Rickon die before his eyes mere feet before he could reach him, Jon can’t even mend his own unshakable sense of loss let alone quiet hers. 

They’ve lost so much, sacrificed so much. 

His hand skims down the length of her arm. He’s never seen her like this. So fragile and bare. 

She never shares her grief, her pain. And even though she’s still trying to be strong now, her pain is still slipping free. 

Stepping back from his touch once again, she turns to him and the pain in her eyes shatters what’s left of his heart. 

“I’m not with child, but you already know that. That’s why you’re here. But what if I can’t create life? What if I can’t create what we’ve lost? What if I can’t rebuild our family? What if I’m ruined? What if the things Ramsay did to me-“ The words are coated in palpable fear as they slip from her frantic breath. 

Tears she can’t hold in anymore slip freely down her rosy cheeks as her belly aches with a deep emptiness. 

The unbearable thought that she can’t keep her family’s memory alive is finally what breaks down her walls, her strength. 

The thought that the things Ramsay did to her ruined her as a woman somehow. 

She’s seen the scars on her body, still feels what he did to her, and now she’s terrified he’s killed her chance to fix the future.

Without hesitation, Jon reaches for her. Pulling her tightly against him as his arms secure around her. 

His breath rips heavy from his chest as tears sting his eyes. 

Seeing the pain that lies within her is devastating. He’s known she buries so much within her, known she keeps her pain hidden, but this, he had no idea she was carrying this.

He places a tender kiss upon her temple as he holds her trembling body close, letting her weight sink into him. 

“You’re not ruined and Ramsay is gone. He can never hurt you again. It’s only been one moon. We will have a child. You can fill the house with them if that’s what pleases you. But you’re not ruined.” Jon whispers, the heat and conviction of his breath smothering the shell of her ear. 

Begging on a desperate breath for her to believe him. For once to just believe him. 

To let him banish her fears. To destroy the pain eating her up inside. To kill the memories of that monster.

Jon feels Sansa squeeze her arms around him and burrow deeper against him for a moment, before she slowly pulls back from his embrace to meet his eyes.

Her eyes are piercing as they find his own, tears stain her cheeks, but a small smile edges on her lips. 

“You’d agree to more than one?” She questions him, a quiet hope hinged upon her breath, in her eyes.

Her question hits him and the words he just said come tumbling back into his mind. 

He has just given his word to have more than one child with her. 

Jon is momentarily unsure where that came from within him, but the spark of hope in her eyes is his answer. 

That spark is where it came from. The desire to make her happy. 

He’d never imagined being a father before her, having a child, but staring into the light of her eyes, Jon realizes the commitment he just made came from the truest part of himself. 

The part not tangled up in honor or nobility. A part of him that is as raw as she is. And desperate to find hope they can rebuild on.

Cupping her cheek in his hand, Jon nods. 

“Aye, as many as you wish to give me.” He can’t help but smile back to her. 

And as a wide smile washes over her face, one that brings a contagious light to her eyes, Jon feels it in his heart. 

A racing, a pounding, her beauty is astounding, but that’s not what has him bewitched in the moment. 

It’s her, all of her. 

His gaze takes on a life of its own as it falls to her mouth with the sudden urge to kiss her senseless and not as his wife for the North, but as his wife in the deepest sense of the word. 

As the only thing he has left to hold onto. The only thing that’s real. 

As his eyes find hers again, Jon can see the same urge mirrored in her own eyes as they both stand suspended in the moment. 

Both uncertain, but aware.

Jon feels himself giving in, his breath inching toward her lips before she breaks the tension and falls against him, back into his arms.

And in that moment as her holds her near, his hand tangling in her fiery hair, her face burrowing into the crook of his neck, as he dares to let himself image a home full of their children, his children, Jon realizes her loves Sansa. Loves her in a way he’s never loved any woman before or will after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to my ridiculously talented friend Gaby! Who's video inspired this chapter for me. I'm sure you've seen it, but it you haven't, you must, because you're really missing out. It's titled "You, Jon & Sansa". https://youtu.be/zvmeVo5dWg4
> 
> So what did you guys think of this chapter? It may look like a big jump in storyline, but I would argue it's not. I've always felt Jon is most vulnerable in the presence of Sansa's pain. And she doesn't show it often, but when her pain comes out, Jon always responds to that.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in updating. I work, I have an internship, and I'm back in grad school. So my plate is pretty full, but I love all your comments. They inspire me to write and pull me back to the story. So please keep them coming.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a drabble, but with the overwhelming support it has received, I have decided to see where it leads


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